Page 110 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
I’m not part of their solar system.
I don’t belong here.
Nah, I’m not gonna let myself spiral. Instead, I open the sketchbook I’ve been carrying since Rafferty was born. Flip to a half-finished idea for a collage I started last night. Scraps oflyrics, jagged brushstrokes, a torn picture of a fire escape. I’ve been expressing myself through art again and it’s keeping me sane.
Soon, I’m immersed in my own inner world.
My pencil moves without direction, finding its way through memory. A curve mirroring the bend of her neck when she used to lean over her homework, ponytail loose. An outline of Capitol Hill rooftops, or maybe it’s hope in the shape of home. I layer in textured slashes of crimson and bone-white. Sharp and fluid.
A burst of golden acrylic where our kids might play together in a backyard I’ve never seen. I picture Jude tracing dinosaurs in the dirt. Lila turning cartwheels. Isla teaching Rafferty to read.
I scrape back some color with the edge of a guitar pick and trace in more lyrics. Ones I haven’t shared with anyone.
In this world, she never walked away. We never broke. The kids are ours and we are happy.
I’m not the outsider.
I’m enough even when it’s messy and raw and impossible.
I press harder.
Let it bleed.
“Jesus, Padraig.”
I jolt upright, graphite smearing the edge of my hand. Ty’s standing behind me, eyes locked on my drawing like he’s seen a ghost. Connor’s next to him, holding a half-eaten protein bar, mouth slack.
The room’s quiet. No more vocals bleed from the monitor. Everyone’s focus is on my sketchbook laid open on the console, raw and exposed.
“Did you make this?” Ty crouches down, studying my drawing like it’s sacred.
I flip the page halfway closed on instinct. “It’s nothing. A sketch.”
Connor grabs my wrist to stop me and steps closer. “This isn’t nothing, Padraig. It’s fucking——”
He doesn’t finish. Stares.
Liam walks in from the vocal booth, towel around his neck. “What’s going on?”
“Did you know about this?” Ty turns the sketch toward him. “Your twin’s been holding out.”
Liam comes over, and squints. “You back at it with the art?”
“Aye. To pass the time.” I shrug, confused. “Started again to pass the time when Rafferty sleeps. I’ve been playing around on canvas, too. Mixed media. It keeps my head clear.”
“You’ve been doing this for how long?” Ty asks. “Seriously?”
“Well, all through school. College. Gave it up until now.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t sleep much when I’m home. Once Mara and the baby are out, I let it out.”
“Art therapy.” Ty glances off into the distance. I know he’s a man who struggles with many demons from his past.
Connor grins. “Christ, you’ve got talent, brother.”
Liam doesn’t speak. Instead, he sinks into the chair opposite me, staring at the notebook like I’ve been keeping a secret from him.
Which, I suppose I have, though not quite as big as the one he thinks he’s been keeping from me.
We lock eyes.
